I am on the precipice of turning forty, and I'm starting to understand why this age is called "over the hill." It feels like this tough slog to the top is almost done. That any moment now, I'll reach the summit and start to enjoy the rest of my time on this planet with less struggle, less effort. I'm hoping this is true anyway.
Many folks I meet tell me I don't look forty, and bless them, but I feel forty. I used to think that I would want to be 22 forever, but having recently spent time with a few people still in their early twenties (pictured above), I've changed my tune. Don't get me wrong. This couple was lovely, intelligent, and well-mannered, but I couldn't help but think, "I am so glad I don't have to do that anymore."
I think I just want all the physical attributes of being 22. You know, a great metabolism, the ability to stay up all night, and joints free of pain. But I wouldn't want to give up one ounce I my life's experiences. The people I've loved, the work I've made, the near death experiences, the look of wonder in my son's eyes when his mind has been blown, the muscle memory to dance an east coast swing, even the mistakes I've made that play on repeat until I've learned my lesson. I wouldn't want to give any of it up.